Begin the Beguine

Where to start...?

Best to button down the hatches and bear with me. It's gonna be a bumpy ride, mates.

Flashback:
I'm circa 15. I'm at summer camp. There are gnats everywhere. A bell gives its sharp triple peal, signaling the beginning of the afternoon's activities. I roll off my cot in the squishy humidity and jog up the hill to the shooting range.

Today I will meet the reason for this blog.

He is four years older than I am and smells like rain. Today, he will teach me how to shoot a rifle. For the next two weeks, he will teach me how to forge an emotional bond with nothing more than silence and shy glances. Over the coming decade, we will continually peer over the ledge of truth and then walk away with our hands over our eyes singing "lalalalalala" to drown out the din of inevitability...

...and we will succeed in driving each other away.

But for now I present to you the story of Rafael and SaN

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It's 2:30 PM. I'm waiting for my turn in line at the range. I have no real interest in this activity - I just needed something to fill my requirements. Raf hands me a rifle. "You know how to use one of these?" he asks in his lilting accent, stressing syllables I never knew existed. I shrug. "I'm sure I can figure it out" - the retort comes out more sharply than intended. He looks at me sideways and trots off to help another shooter. I put the gun to my shoulder, aim through the sight, squeeze the trigger and flip over the bench behind me - flat onto my ass. Raf barely looks up, but the "I told you so" rings loudly in my head. I'm secretly glad he's not watching.

[Not being good at things is paralyzing to me - it's the reason that to this day I'm hesitant to walk into a new takeout place by myself because I'll have to take too much time to gape awkwardly at the menu. I like managing my expectations, what can I say?]

I aim a second time, now prepared for the recoil. A smell invades the space between my brain and my tongue and mocks my concentration. Earth and Rain. He is standing behind me now, drilling his thumb into my lower back, telling me to stand up straight, "or you'll fall on your arse again." Never in my life have I wanted to have better posture than now. But my stubborn pride resists his help. "Whatever. I got it under control." I'm brilliant, this should make him all the more eager to correct my stance.

I'm dead wrong.

Raf ignores me for the rest of the afternoon. I feel like an idiot. I vow to take a mulligan tomorrow.